


Protecting the Puck

by chele681



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Disproportionately large cocks, Hurt!Sidney Crosby, M/M, Pittsburgh Penguins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 09:09:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chele681/pseuds/chele681
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Geno could be sweet, when he wanted to be, and Sid needs something sweet. Now, more than ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protecting the Puck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LouLa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouLa/gifts).



> Loula commiserated with me when I realized I'd read all the Sid/Geno smut ever written. In thanks for that solidarity, I write this. 
> 
> Thanks to [ Einfach Mich,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/einfach_mich/pseuds/einfach_mich) my dubiously-heterosexual life-partner and bonded soul mate who loves me and held my hand when I asked her to pre-read & make sure I hadn't Mary-Sue'd myself into a 6'3" Russian.
> 
> If you haven't seen them, [this video](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KHdNU3CRdjg) is where Sid is in love with Geno, and [this video](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-_hCEqGGsQI%22) is where Sid tries to convince the world it doesn't hurt and he can easily put 10 lbs back on his ass. 
> 
> If you haven't seen the video where Sid is hit in the face with a puck, don't look for it. Ever.

\--

When Sid doesn’t answer at his knock, Geno hesitates before reaching in his pocket. 

The moment feels heavy when he lets himself into Sid’s house. He’s had the key for months, but they’d usually come and gone together, or Sid would be at the sidewalk before he could open the car door. Always meeting him halfway. It’s not easy to cross the threshold without Sid pulling him in. It feels like a declaration, and they’d never given that kind of definition to what they have. But Geno thinks about all of the times Sid has pushed himself out of his own comfort zone, broke his routines for Geno, so he sucks it up and walks in. 

The house is quiet, but he can hear the TV upstairs. He follows the sound and taps on the doorframe as he walks into Sidney’s room to let him know he’s coming in. There’s no response. He can see Sidney in bed, propped up on several pillows, his hair a riot against the pillowcase, still slightly damp from the shower. His eyes are closed and he’s breathing steadily through his parted lips. It lightens Geno’s heart just to be here, having fought his instincts for nearly a week in order to stay away. Stay focused on the games. Deal with the losses. The press. The travel. Other than that first night in the hospital, which Geno is not sure Sidney would even remember - bless painkillers- it’s been a week since they’ve been alone together, and other than a few brief texts, they’d been out of touch, and though Geno won’t say that it hurt him, he’d admit that just seeing Sid like this, seeing him whole, was healing. 

Geno takes the remote control out of Sidney’s hand to turn off the TV so it won’t wake Sid later, he needs his rest. He turns to head downstairs and see what he can find in the kitchen that will go in the blender. It’s time for Sid to get those 10 pounds back on. Hopefully on his ass. 

“Hey,” Sid says, his voice filled with gravel. “Don’t go..”

“You need sleep. I come back.”

“Feels like I’ve been sleeping for a week.” 

Sid sits up and the blankets slide down to his waist. Geno clears his throat and Sid reaches out a hand toward him. Geno sits on the edge of the bed and looks at Sids face in the soft light of the bedside lamp.

“Team says you real hockey player now. Not so pretty. “

Sid huffs a laugh and his lips pull into a broken smile. Geno feels it like a punch in the gut. 

Sid’s smile has always been a little crooked, the right side bigger, brighter, while the left always looking more like he was keeping a happy secret. A little more in control. Once, after too much vodka and too few points in a game against Washington, Geno had spent 20 minutes explaining to Ovechkin that once you saw Sidney Crosby’s smile, you knew everything there was about him. One half of him wild, powerful and unrestrained, the other shy, cautious, calculated. The whole of him perfect and like warmth of the sun in winter. Ovechkin had taken the vodka away, and, thankfully, only mocked him about it privately since. He only hopes that lasts, but suspects a YouTube video blackmail threat every time they play the Caps. 

Geno has spent countless hours trying to make Sid smile. To be warmed by that sight. There’s barely any sunshine in Sid’s smile tonight, however. The puck hit Sidney’s right side, shattering his jaw. In the interview earlier at practice Sid admitted to having lost three or four teeth, but Geno would bet based on the darkness there, that there are at least a half dozen gone. 

“I think they wrong,” Geno says, nudging Sid with his shoulder, “You still pretty.”

“Fuck you,” Sid says, and laughs, high and loud, and then cringes, bringing his hand in an aborted movement halfway to his face. 

It’s the way that Sidney stops himself there, has trained himself to pretend that it doesn't hurt, that finally breaks Geno. He reaches out, wraps his arm around Sid’s shoulder and tangles his fingers in the hair at the back of Sid’s head, drawing him close. 

“Ssssh.... ssshhhh.....”

Geno’s lips gently press against Sid’s forehead, cheek, trace Sid’s lips, his nose skimming feather light over the bruising at his jaw. 

Sid leans into the touch. “I’m not broken,” he says, pulling Geno closer.

“You are hurt,” Geno whispers into the skin at Sid’s shoulder.

“I missed you.” Sid says it like that’s what hurt the most. 

“I take care of you,” Geno says, and takes the moment just to feel Sid in his arms, willing away any moment other than this one. 

Geno had grit his teeth as Sid lisped his way through the interview at that afternoon’s practice, more than slightly high from the painkillers but too determined to support the team to show weakness. Too strong to stay away. He managed to pull it off - endearing, self deprecating. Sid.

The reporters had been thick and they hadn’t been able to share more than a look before he was gone and Geno had to be out on the ice. Seeing him across the locker room and not being able to touch him, talk to him, had been torture, but also guaranteed that he’d be unable to keep away from Sid any more.

\--

At the beginning, this thing with Sid had come as a surprise. It was hard to believe they would ever be anything more than teammates, maybe friends, but nothing more. That changed one morning in 2010. Geno had come in for practice, admittedly a little rough from the night before, to find his locker papered in 100 pictures of him making out with a girl in the club. They’d just been fucking around, she was a fan, looking to hook up. Admittedly, the amount of tongue was a bit obscene, but they’d just beat Detroit, and that was worthy of celebration. Geno’s still not sure if it was a reporter or one of the guys hanging with the team who took the picture, but by morning the internet had it and even his mother had called to talk to him about discretion. If only she knew how discreet he could be when it mattered. 

Geno’s tongue had always been just a touch too big for his mouth, something he’d been sensitive about even after he outgrew his lisp, a sensitivity that disappeared after a strong drink or two, and clearly, there had been several that night. Geno was cocksure enough not to be bothered by getting some shit from the guys, especially when he was getting shit for having a beautiful girl trying to eat his face, so he’d shrugged it off and left the pictures up instead of throwing a fit like Talbot would have done. It seemed to take the wind out of their sails when Geno just started getting dressed, business as usual, but when he looked up he saw Sid staring over his shoulder. 

He expected for Sid to chirp him, or to look a bit disappointed in his captainly way. What he didn’t expect was what he saw on Sidney’s face. His eyes were hooded and his tongue peeked out to swipe at his lower lip. He looked like he did when the rest of the team was ordering dessert and he was trying to set a good example. Sidney had looked hungry. 

It could have meant a lot of things, but it was the first clue that there was more there for Sid. There had always been more there for Geno, but he’d never considered pursuing it until that moment. Even after they’d become teammates, moved to friends, this was Sidney fucking Crosby. No one was in his league. However, Geno’d seen Sid sneak enough candy to know that he was incapable of resisting sweets. Geno could be real sweet when he wanted. 

Looking back now, wasn't hard to see they'd been moving toward each other with the strength and speed of glacier, but this thing between them was still delicate, even after almost a year. 

\--

Waiting to see Sidney this week had been frustrating, but they had decided in the beginning that, for the sake of the team, they would keep what they had private. The guys would be cool, but the media would be on it like sharks in a frenzy, and that kind of distraction was the last thing the Penguins needed when they were fighting for the Stanley Cup. And the Penguins were always fighting for the Cup. 

So in public they behaved as they always had, but when they were off the ice, when they were alone, they were like magnets snapping together. They fucked like a championship was at stake most of the time, and hung out like best friends the rest. 

Geno wants to kiss Sidney right now, wants to fuck into Sidney’s mouth with his tongue until he’s begging for Geno’s cock. As good as he knows that feels, he knows that it’s just not possible tonight. It might be a while. Instead he puts his mouth to work on Sidney’s neck, trailing bruising kisses down his chest. 

“I want you to fuck me,” Sid says, pulling on Geno’s shirt until Geno reaches one arm behind his head and pulls it off. Sid has his hands on Geno’s skin before the shirt lands in a heap on the floor. 

“Sid not cleared to exert,” Geno says in between kisses, “If okay fuck you, should be skating. I call Coach, tell him you take my cock, you ready to play.” 

Sidney’s only wearing jogging shorts, and Geno easily slips his hand under the elastic waistband to wrap his hand around Sid’s hardening dick, already a substantial weight against Geno’s palm, too much to contain in his grip. 

Sid groans. “I’ll just lay here. You can do all the work. I want your cock in me.”

“You don’t know how let someone else work harder than you,” Geno says, continuing to stroke Sid as Geno’s mouth moves close enough for Sid to feel breath on the head of his dick.

“Oh fuck, Zenya, I missed your mouth,” Sidney says with a lisp. It would make Geno laugh if it wasn’t such a clear reminder of the devastation to Sidney’s face.

“Ssshhhhh... Sid hurt. Should not talk.”

Sidney’s cock is hot against his tongue as he licks it from base to tip. It looks angry. 

Geno runs his nose along the crease where Sid’s thigh meets his hip, rubs his cheek along the length of Sidney’’s cock. It bobs, gently smacking Geno in the face, and he turns to capture it with his lips. Sid’s never known average in anything, and his cock is no exception. A fact that Sid stopped being embarrassed about while he was still in juniors. Geno’s heard that his rookie year Sid had been chirped about it, was told that his cock matched his ass, but everyone else had moved past that by the time Geno came across the sea. Geno spent years avoiding looking at it in the locker room, and will never get tired of being able to see him like this where he can look his fill, watch as it stretches toward Sid’s belly button. 

Thankfully, Geno’s never been accused of having a small mouth. 

He wraps his lips around the head of Sid’s cock, the weight feeling solid and whole. Healthy. He sucks at it, getting it wet, feeling it grow harder against his tongue, feeling Sid’s blood pulse beneath his lips and fill his mouth filling his mouth with hard flesh. Strong and alive. 

“Oh, Babe, yeah,” Sid says and Geno’s heart clenches in his chest like it does every time Sid loses himself and speaks of him like he’s something precious. 

“Ssshhh, You keep talk, I stop,” Geno pulls off long enough to admonish and then returns to sucking wetly on Sid’s cock.

Sid groans and his hands tangle further in Geno’s hair, but his only answer is a panting breath, wet and heavy, so Geno continues. He remembers fucking Sid into the mattress the last time they’d been in his bed, Sid’s face pushed into a pillow as he keened out in his release. Geno wants to make Sid come that hard again, and channels any sadness that he feels about not being able to have that into the task at hand. 

Geno’s hands reach for as much skin as they can touch, raising goosebumps in their wake. When his fingers reach Sid’s waist, Sid breathes a giggle, caught somewhere between a squeak and a moan, the dual sensations evident in the sounds he makes, and curls into himself as if to fend off assault even while his hips thrust up forcing his to the back of Geno’s throat. 

Geno firms his touch. Make’s sure that Sid knows there’s nothing here that he need ever defend from. Rakes his blunt nails along Sids sides and around to cup his ass and squeezes, urging Sid deeper until Geno can barely squeeze a breath through his nose and his eyes are starting to tear up. It’s fast and fierce and it’s a week’s worth of worry and ache put into physical contact. Geno wants Sid to fuck his mouth and for it to feel like it always does when he comes. Wants to swallow Sid down until this week never happened and they’re still on a fifteen game winning streak, and Sid can still smile at him from across the paint. Like he hadn’t watched the refs pick pieces of Sid’s face up off the ice, and Geno hadn’t spent the next hour skating over the trail of blood to the bench until they could end that fucking game and know for sure that it wasn’t another concussion. That Sid wouldn’t be out for another year this time.

Sid makes a noise, high in his throat, and his hips start to thrust out of rhythm as the fingers tangled in Geno’s hair pull tighter. Taking his cue, Geno pulls back a bit to look up at him, to watch his face as he comes, but Sid’s brow is furrowed, and his jaw is clenched too tightly not to ache once he comes down from this high, and Geno knows he’s made things too intense, too fast. If Sid comes like this it’s not the relief Geno wanted to give him. 

Reaching his hand up to Sid’s face, Geno trails his fingers slowly along the uninjured side of Sid’s jaw, coaxing those muscles to relax even as he slows his mouth on Sid’s cock before he lets it slip from between his lips and focuses his attentions lower. He hears the raggedness in Sid’s breath even out. 

“Ssshhhhhh.... got you,” Geno says, his tongue lapping and sucking at the tender skin behind Sid’s cock, slowing the feverish pace, but not removing the connection. Geno’s grinding his cock into the mattress in time with his tongue, an unconscious effort for relief, scratching an itch without losing his focus. 

When he feels Sid’s jaw go slack, Geno brings his hand down to stroke long and slow along Sid’s cock, still slippery from Geno’s mouth. The wet sound is obscene and Geno moans against the flesh between Sid’s thighs, making Sid spread himself open further. Sid’s hands have loosened their grip, trailing along the curve of Geno’s ear, like he’s shy to guide Geno’s mouth any lower, to ask for any more, but he’s spread wide and Geno’s never made Sid beg for anything. 

Geno explores every bit of skin his tongue can reach, licking along the flesh that still tastes slightly of Sid’s soap, and grinding his nose against the base of Sid’s cock while he brings Sid slowly back to the edge. Sid is panting deep breathed through his parted lips when Geno moves his lips back around Sid’s cock. Geno keeps their eyes locked as he slides down in slow, wet, strokes, his hand moving in tandem with his mouth. 

When Sidney comes he’s slack-jawed and his body is loose. It’s easy, like wake-up sex on a Tuesday morning instead of the desperate fuck after a bad game. They break eye contact when Geno closes his eyes to swallow Sidney down and Sid’s head drops to the pillow behind him. 

While Sidney catches his breath, Geno reaches down to unzip his pants and pushes them down so he can palm his cock, which he finally notices is screaming for attention now that the urgency of taking care of Sidney has abated. He pushes up onto his knees, perched over Sid. His hand is still wet and he’s already about to come after a few rough pulls when Sid wraps his hand tight at the base of his cock and squeezes. Geno’s orgasm rips from him and he spills his come over Sid’s chest and abs. 

Geno hangs his head down between his shoulders, recovering, and watching as Sid trails his hand along the mess that Geno’s made on him, rubbing it into his skin because he knows that Geno gets off on seeing it, that it satisfies some base need for Geno that they never name. Even if he know’s Sid’s already reaching for a towel on the nightstand with his other hand so he can clean up.

Geno places a kiss to Sid’s shoulder, his neck. Sid wraps his hand along the back of Geno’s head and guides him up until their lips meet, and Geno kisses him softly, with a tenderness that belies his frame, his stature, and his ability to slam opponents into the boards. 

Sid pulls back, looks into Geno’s eyes and says, “I’m fucking starving.”

Geno’s huffs out a laugh and gets up, pulling on his pants, but not bothering to find his shirt. 

“Come. I find a way put cheeseburger in blender for you,“ Geno tosses over his shoulder as he walks out of the room, his heart lighter than it’s been in over a week. 

Sid was going to be just fine.


End file.
